Russian Roulette
by Disgruntled Peony
Summary: The personnel of the Agency are forced to play a very dangerous game.... (Set between 'Possessed' and 'Enemy of my Enemy')


Title: Russian Roulette  
Author: liz_Z  
E-mail: liz_Z@secret-agent.com  
Category: Drama, Suspense  
Rating: PG-13  
Spoilers: Some minor ones for 'Possessed'.  
Season/Sequel info: Takes place between 'Possessed' and 'Enemy of my Enemy'.  
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from 'The Invisible Man' in any way, shape, or form. If I did, I would probably treat 'em a little nicer. ;)  
Author's notes: Eek! It's another morning bunny! Run for your lives! Boy, I seem prone to character torture lately....

Claire ran a hand across her face and allowed herself a small moan of displeasure. She had been reading printouts and juggling test results for most of the afternoon, and was beginning to develop a monumental headache. However, the thought of stopping her research long enough to take some acetaminophen was equally unbearable.

She was trying to discover a way to prolong the counteragent, but at this point she was beginning to give up hope on the subject. All her efforts to prolong Arnaud's version had come to naught, and the beta version of the counteragent had failed miserably. She felt extremely agitated by the whole affair, and knew Darien must feel twice as frustrated as she.

As if conscious of the fact that he was on Claire's mind, Darien chose that moment to walk into the lab. Claire quickly took in his appearance, a habit she had developed over the past several days as she had tried to assess his level of depression. He had not yet begun to allow his hair to flop down into his eyes, but his clothing choice was noticeably more eclectic; it looked as if he had put on the first shirt and pair of pants he had found. The dark sunglasses he wore made it impossible for Claire to get a proper read on his emotions.

"Heya, Keepy."

"Darien," Claire said by way of acknowledgement, giving him a brief nod before she turned back to her paperwork. She knew that the answer to the counteragent immunity problem was right in front of her, if she could just maintain enough of an open mindset to see it. There had to be a solution somewhere. But, much to her own chagrin, she had no idea what it might be.

Claire almost jumped as Darien placed a hand on her shoulder, his body radiating warmth not even a foot behind her. When had he moved there? She spun around, instinctively taking a step back to put a comfortable amount of space between herself and her co-worker. "Do you need something?"

Darien shook his head to indicate he didn't, then stuffed his hands in his pockets and asked in a curious tone, "Whatcha doin'?"

"What else?" she sighed, rubbing her right thumb and forefinger against the bridge of her nose to ward off the pain flashing behind her eyes. "Trying to fix the counteragent problem, of course."

Darien nodded thoughtfully. He rocked backward on his heels and tilted his head to the side, a strangely unnerving smile playing across his lips. He took a step forward, once again invading Claire's personal space, and bent down so that his face was only a few inches away from hers. "You look tired. You should take a break."

Claire had a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Darien was acting uncharacteristically calm, like a cat that had been sitting in the sun all afternoon. But there was a strange edge to his demeanor that put Claire on alert. "Darien," she asked, trying to keep her voice calm, "where's Hobbes?"

Darien pursed his lips thoughtfully as if debating whether or not he should answer Claire's question and then shrugged. "He's taking a nap."

"Oh, is he now?" Claire's brow lowered with suspicion. There had been a hint of self-satisfaction in Darien's tone that she found distinctly odd, and more than a little disturbing. Her eyes automatically strayed to Darien's right wrist, but the way he had placed his hands in his pockets made it impossible for her to catch a glimpse of the segments of his tattoo.

Darien noticed the glance and his posture tensed. "Something wrong?" he asked, attempting to keep a measure of nonchalance in his voice but unable to conceal the menace that floated beneath.

"No," Claire replied, attempting to keep her tone level. She took a step backward, attempting to keep her movements natural as she began to edge toward the refrigerator that held the counteragent.

Quick as a striking cobra Darien lunged forward and grabbed Claire's wrist in one hand, all traces of civility disappearing as he pulled her roughly to a halt. He clicked his tongue in a reproachful manner. "Shouldn't have done that."

Claire tried to pull her arm out of Darien's grasp, wincing as he merely tightened his hold. "Darien, you're hurting me."

Darien tilted his head forward and looked over his sunglasses at Claire, giving her a clear view of his blood-red eyes. "Come on baby, you know you like it."

Claire took a sharp breath inward. "Darien Fawkes, let go of me this instant!"

Darien shook his head in an exaggerated manner, a goofy grin on his face that might have been quite pleasant if he weren't acting like a crazed lunatic. "I don't think so." He pushed his sunglasses back up on his nose and shifted so that he was standing just behind Claire, one hand on her wrist and the other hand draped casually over her shoulder. "Let's take a walk."

Claire considered struggling, but decided against it. He was stronger than her, even on a normal day, and the adrenaline boost of the Quicksilver Madness made him a force to reckon with. So she allowed him to lead her out of the room and down the hall, toward the Official's office.

Darien swung the door open and pushed Claire inside, obviously relishing her reaction as she looked around the room and realized that not only was she here, but the Official, Eberts, Alex, and Hobbes were as well. They were all seated in chairs, their wrists bound to the armrests of the chairs with duct tape.

Most of the group sported some kind of injury; Alex had a bruise forming on her cheek, Eberts had a bump on the crown of his head, and the Official had a bloody lip. However, Hobbes was by far the worst off. He had a large gash on his forehead and was slumped forward in his chair, unconscious. Claire's first instinct was to rush over and check to see if he had further injuries, but Darien's rough grip on her arm made that impossible.

Claire glanced back over at Darien. "I see you've been busy...."

"That's one way of putting it," Alex muttered venomously.

Darien pushed Claire roughly down into the only remaining empty chair and reached for a roll of duct tape that had been placed on the Official's desk, wrapping the tape around her arms. Once he was finished he straightened to his full height and began to pace the room, gloating in turn at each of his captives.

He stopped in front of Hobbes and bent over so that he was just a few inches from Hobbes' ear. "Wake up!" he barked, his tone loud and harsh enough that it caused Claire to start in surprise.

Hobbes jerked upward. His eyes flew open as he looked around the room, momentarily disoriented. Then his jaw tightened and he hissed, "Damnit, Fawkes!"

"Go to Hell, Hobbes," was Darien's flippant response.

Hobbes opened his mouth to make an indignant response, but before he had the chance to speak the Official bellowed, "Fawkes, I am not going to stand for this! Let us go right now, or I will have that gland ripped out of your head."

Darien let out a throaty laugh. "Oh, please. You've been threatening me with that from day one. It's kind of lost its edge." He sauntered over to the Official's chair as he continued, "Besides, at this point you'd probably be doing me a favor."

Eberts, who had until this point merely sat quietly in his chair, finally managed to get up the courage to speak. "Darien, I understand that you have been under a great deal of stress lately, but I don't think this is the best way to relieve it--"

Darien whirled around and gave Eberts a fierce look. "Don't talk to me about stress relief!"

Eberts gave a nervous cough and clapped his mouth shut.

"Anyone else got something to say?" Darien asked, glaring at each person in turn. When no one responded he relaxed, the smug smile once again appearing on his features. "Good." He pulled open one of the drawers on the Official's desk and began to rifle through it matter-of-factly.

Claire frowned. "Darien, what are you doing?"

"That's what I'd like to know," the Official growled.

Darien didn't say anything, but his smile widened as he continued to dig through the desk. He heaved a contented sigh as his fingers brushed against the object he had been searching for, then slowly pulled it out of the drawer. Claire blanched as she saw the revolver that was resting in Darien's palm.

"Look what I found," Darien purred. He flipped open the chamber, checking to see if there were any bullets inside, then reached into the Official's desk and pulled out a single bullet, sliding it into the appropriate place and pushing the chamber closed. He spun it recklessly and looked around the room. "Let's play a game." He walked the center of the room and looked around at his trussed-up companions. "Who wants to go first?"

"Come on Fawkes, this is stupid," Alex said caustically, her temper flaring.

"Oh!" Darien exclaimed, turning to Alex and leering at her. "We have a volunteer." Before anyone even had time to bat an eyelash he aimed the revolver at her head and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Alex stiffened for a moment, but managed to regain her poise.

"Well," Darien said, his brow furrowing at Alex's lack of reaction, "that was interesting."

"Yes, wasn't it just?" Alex asked sarcastically.

Darien turned and looked around the room in a calculating manner. "Who wants to go next?"

"Darien," Claire said, trying not to let the fear in her voice come through, "you don't need to do this. There's some counteragent made up down in the lab. Let me give you your shot. Please."

Darien canted his head to the left. "It's losing its effect, remember?" he said mockingly.

Eberts cleared his throat and began timidly, "Actually, according to the Keeper's reports, you will not become completely immune to the counteragent for--"

"Shut up, Eberts!" Darien hissed, turning to Eberts and aiming the gun at his head.

"Agent Fawkes, cease and desist! Now!" the Official bellowed, his jowls quivering from the effort he put into his words. Darien's only response was to pull the trigger.

Eberts cringed instinctively, squeezing his eyes shut. However, his body slowly relaxed as he realized that he had not received a bullet to the head. He tentatively opened his eyes and let out the breath that he had been holding in a relieved sigh.

Darien turned to the Official, his voice cold as he intoned, "No one tells me what to do." He placed the barrel of the gun against the Official's head. "No one."

The Official closed his eyes as Darien squeezed the trigger.

"Damn," Darien said, his face fraught with disappointment, "I was hoping it'd be you."

Claire shook her head. "Darien, this is--"

"Stupid? Dangerous?" Darien bent down in front of her, pulling off his sunglasses to reveal his red-tinted eyes. "Insane?"

"Try all of the above," Hobbes snapped.

Darien ignored Hobbes' comment. Claire could feel his breath on her face as he said, "What do you think happens when you die?" Darien traced the barrel of the gun across her cheek. "Do you believe in an afterlife of some kind? Or do you think that once we're dead, that's it? We're gone. Finis. Kaput. The end."

Claire bit her lip in an effort to calm her shaky nerves, not at all pleased with the implications brought up by the topic at hand. "Darien, stop it."

Darien leaned forward and whispered in a low, seductive tone that only she could hear, "Because if you do, we could always have a little fun before you go...." Claire tensed, automatically pulling away. Darien straightened back up, a disappointed expression on his face. "OK, fine. Have it your way." Claire took a deep breath as Darien began to squeeze his finger on the trigger, determined not to flinch.

Hobbes lunged forward, yelping "Claire!" as his chair tipped over. Claire gasped, momentarily mistaking the sound of the chair hitting the floor for a gun discharge. Darien jumped at the unexpected noise, his finger pulling taut. Claire could barely believe it when, instead of a booming noise and the feel of something ripping through her skull, all she heard was the soft click that indicated the chamber was empty.

Darien looked extremely agitated. He bent down in front of Hobbes and grabbed him roughly by the collar. "That was not funny."

"I didn't think so either," Hobbes snarled, his expression livid.

Darien aimed the barrel of the revolver at Hobbes' forehead, his voice deceptively calm as he said, "Well, in any case, it's your turn next."

Claire paled. There was a one-in-two chance that Hobbes would be shot if Darien pulled the trigger, and she didn't like those odds one bit. "Darien, you shouldn't do this. Bobby's your friend. You don't want to do this to him, not really."

"Oh, so now you can read my mind, too?" Darien snorted in annoyance or amusement, it was hard to discern which.

"Fawkes," Alex said, a hint of desperation in her voice, "you know Claire's right. Put down the gun."

Darien smirked. "Oh, wow, was that a trace of vulnerability I caught in your tone? The five-star agent is actually worried about someone." He looked down at Hobbes and grinned. "She actually cares about whether or not you get your brains blown out. Doesn't that make you feel special?"

Hobbes tried as hard as possible to keep his tone even, but even so, traces of anger managed to spill out. "Yeah, well, I'd feel a lot more special if I weren't the one with a gun pointed at my head."

"C'mon, Hobbesy, don't be like that. You have to play, just like everyone else."

Hobbes shook his head and tightened his jaw. "This ain't no game, my friend. This is murder."

Darien shrugged. "We'll see about that, won't we?" Claire's heart leapt into her throat as Darien pulled the trigger.

Click.

Claire sagged in relief at the welcomed sound, or lack thereof. Hobbes' jaw twitched momentarily, but that was the only sign that he had felt the tension a few moments previous.

Darien looked at the gun, considering it carefully. Then he stood to his feet slowly and placed the barrel of the gun to his head. "My turn."

Claire paled. Darien was not normally suicidal, but when he was Quicksilver Mad... quite frankly, there was no telling what he might do. "Darien," she paused for a moment, trying to think of a way to stall him long enough for someone to get the gun away from him. "Stop for one minute and think about what you're doing."

"Oh, I have," Darien said in an eerily calm tone. "I've been thinking about this for a long time."

Hobbes squirmed from his position on the floor, trying to loosen the duct tape binding his wrists and ankles enough so he could get out from under the chair that kept him effectively pinned to the ground. "Damnit, Fawkes, put down the gun! You've had your fun, you know how this'll end."

"But we have to play it out, Hobbesy, otherwise the whole thing was pointless," Darien drawled. "Someone was gonna die, no matter how things went." He shrugged. "Might as well be me."

The Official frowned. "Put the gun down, Fawkes," he said, his tone one of authoritative disapproval.

Darien's eyes narrowed. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Keep the receptacle alive so you can pull the damn gland out of his head in one piece?" He glared at the Official, a look of intense hatred that pierced to the bone. "Forget it. I'm not lettin' you screw up anyone else's life like you did mine." With that said he wedged the barrel of the gun firmly in his mouth, his finger tensing on the trigger.

Claire noticed that Hobbes had almost worked free of his bonds and, desperate to stop Darien from killing himself when help was so close, she yelped, "Darien, no!" Darien didn't remove the gun from his mouth, but he didn't pull the trigger either. Relieved, but still far from relaxed, Claire continued, "If you'll just give me some time, just a little more time, I'll be able to find the cure. You don't have to do this. There is another way."

Hobbes managed to work his right hand free of the tape, then reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small pocketknife and began to methodically cut at the tape wrapped around his other wrist, working carefully so as not to make any noise.

Oblivious to Hobbes' actions, Darien took the gun out of his mouth and snarled, "Yeah, that's what you keep sayin', but for all I know you could be plotting with the fat man to get as much work out of me as you can, then harvest the gland the minute I hit permanent stage five."

Claire shook her head. "Darien, I wouldn't do that to you. I'm your friend."

"That's what you WANT me to think!" Darien insisted, waving the gun around wildly to emphasize his point. "You want me to get all snug and cozy, and then BAM! Before I know it, I wind up dead on the operating table." He shook his head stubbornly. "If I'm goin', I'm goin' on my own terms."

Hobbes managed to undo the final bit of tape holding him to the chair and scrambled out from beneath it, lunging upward and grabbing Darien's hand. "Sorry, partner, but you're not goin' today!" The two of them began to wrestle for control of the gun, grunting and cursing with the exertion. Claire was unable to prevent a startled scream from escaping her throat as the gun discharged. However, Hobbes had managed to steer the gun upward, away from Darien's head, and the bullet impacted into the ceiling, causing plaster to rain down on the heads of the two struggling men.

Darien was distracted enough by the noise and falling debris that Hobbes managed to knock him face-first to the ground. Darien snarled and tried to get back up, but Hobbes sat on his back and seized hold of his hands, holding them firmly together and binding them with the same roll of duct tape Darien had made use of earlier. Hobbes bound his legs, too, making it impossible for him to attempt any kind of escape without considerable difficulty.

As soon as Darien was subdued, Hobbes picked up his pocketknife from where it had fallen forgotten to the floor and walked over to Claire, carefully undoing the tape that had been wrapped around her wrists. "You OK?" he asked, his brown eyes filled with concern.

Claire looked downward, unable to meet his gaze. "I'm fine." Actually, she was far from fine. But she knew that the events of the last few minutes had been at least as torturing to the others as they had been to her, especially Hobbes. She stood to her feet once he was finished undoing her bonds and rubbed her wrists absently, glancing over at Darien's struggling, red-eyed figure. "I'd better go get the counteragent." Before anyone could yay or nay her proposal, she walked out of the room.

When she stepped out into the hallway it was all she could do to keep from sinking to the ground, hugging her knees to her chest and having a good cry. Of all the Quicksilver Madness episodes she had ever seen Darien go through, this was undoubtedly one of the worst, and the most disturbing. Some part of him, suppressed or not, thought his life was over, or if it wasn't yet it soon would be. And that part of him was apparently considering, and willing to commit, both murder and suicide.

But the longer she delayed by succumbing to her own emotions, the more Darien would become swallowed up by his darker impulses. And if Darien had been this bad when he was merely in stage four madness, Claire was absolutely terrified at the thought of what he might be like in stage five.

So she walked down the halls at a hurried clip, her jaw set in an attempt to keep the tears from flowing. She could let them out later. Right now, she had a job to do. She had to save Darien's sanity. She had to find a way to stop the madness once and for all. 

The End


End file.
